Coffee .... Richard Brautigan

자아, 커피 잔을 가볍게 오른손에 들고,
턱을 당기고, 자연스럽게 웃으면서 좋습니다, 착칵.
"때로 인생은 한 잔의 커피가 가져다 주는 따스함의 문제"
라고 리처드 브로디건이 어딘가에 썼었다.
커피에 대해 쓴 문장 가운데서 나는 이 글이 제일 마음에 든다

무라카미 하루키가 그의 수필 '커피가 있는 풍경'에서 기억해 내지 못했던
Richard Brautigan의 수필의 제목과 원문을 찾았다..

"Revenge of the Lawn"

Eunsoo! good job!!..ㅎㅎ

ps:비오는 토요일...찜질방 가요..모두 봄비처럼 기분좋은 휴일 되시길요... 

Coffee .... Richard Brautigan

Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords.

I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but as time goes by

I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us is gone now.

She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach.

Every step she took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door.

She saw me and it did not please her.
 

Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went, pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing else.
"All right," she said. I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on.

They had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a cup next to it, and a spoon.

I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove and turned the gas on under it.
 

All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door after her.

I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there.

I stared at the garbage and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers

and peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
 

It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup

and the spoon all laid out like a funeral service.

These are the things that you need to make a cup of coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a grave, I said,

"Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door.

Her voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
 

I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came,

I had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed.

It was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San Francisco.

I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. once we were very close.

I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell.

That was a small victory. one must keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that she was seeing me.

"What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile.

She had not bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself.

She was just holding the robe in front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night. "What do you want?" she said. "I want a cup of coffee,"

I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
 

"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen.

I have to go to bed." The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen.

I didn't feel like going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself.

I didn't feel like going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not planned it that way.

At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love.

Perhaps if he has enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee. 

- from Revenge of the Lawn -

 Richard Gary Brautigan (January 30, 1935 – ca. September 16, 1984) was an American novelist, poet, and short story writer.

His work often employs black comedy, parody, and satire. He is best known for his 1967 novel Trout Fishing in America.

Brautigan was born in Tacoma, Washington, the only... "All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds."

Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords.

때로 인생이란 단지 커피 그 자체와 한잔의 커피가 주는 따스함에 지나지 않는다 

커피 칸타타 ... 유안진 詩

꿈도 없고 뉘우침도 없고
잠까지도 없는 하루의 끝에서
마지막 한 걸음 떼어놓다 말고
한 번이라도 뒤돌아보게 될까봐 한 잔을 마시고
눈 딱 감고 뛰어내리려고 또 한 잔을 마시고
거기 정말로 잠이 있나 확인하려고 한 잔을 더 마시고

잠 속으로 돌진할 마지막 준비로
머그잔 절반을 커피가루로
나머지 절반은 냉수로 채우지

캄캄한 잔 속에 풍덩 뛰어들면
케냐 에콰도르 에티오피아의 어느
커피 농장으로 직행하게 되지

너무 빨리 달려가서
뜨는 해가 지는 줄도 모른 채
까맣게 새까맣게 잠이 되고 말지
까만 손톱으로 커피원두를 따는
작고 깡마른 소녀가 되지
가지마다 닥지닥지 매달린 동그란
원두열매가 되어버리지

 

 

 

 

 

원두커피효능은 커피 원두에 소량으로 함유되어 있는 카페스톨에는 암을 예방하는 효과가 있다고 해요

암, 당뇨 등과 같은 질병을 미리 예방하는데에 큰! 효과가 있다고 합니다

매일 1~2잔의 원두커피를 꾸준하게 마시게 되면 노년기에 치매에 걸릴 확률도 감소한답니다

하지만 지나치면 모자람만 못한 것 처럼 카페인이 함유된 커피, 녹차, 홍차는

지나치게 많이 섭취하게 되면 불면증이나 근육경련등과 같은 증상을 유발할 수도 있으니 유의해야 합니다

 

...Lacy J. Dalton - Black Coffee